


Into the Fire

by schweet_heart



Series: Merlin Fic [98]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Action & Romance, Action/Adventure, Aftermath of Violence, Alternate Universe - Detectives, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Banter, Case Fic, Complicated Relationships, Danger, Escape, Fire, First Kiss, Friends to Lovers, Handcuffed Together, Humor, Kidnapping, M/M, Missions Gone Wrong, Slice of Life, Smuggling, Stakeout, heat of the moment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-07
Updated: 2018-01-07
Packaged: 2019-03-01 22:08:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13304310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/schweet_heart/pseuds/schweet_heart
Summary: “What part ofunder no circumstances are you to follow medid you not understand?”Merlin snorts, and it turns into a hacking cough that makes his entire body jerk. “As if I’d let you break into a smuggler’s hideout by yourself,” he says. “It’s not like I was expecting to be knocked out and left to die in a burning building. You said you were just going to get the books and get out. You said it would be easy!”“Well, I was wrong,” Arthur snaps. “Obviously.”There’s a beat of silence behind him, then Merlin says with something like wonder in his voice, “Now Iknowwe’re going to die.”





	Into the Fire

**Author's Note:**

> Believe it or not, this was written just after Hard Boiled but never finished – I think that was probably what gave me the idea for Detective Merthur in the first place. One day I swear I will write that fic, but today is not that day. Until then, however, I hope this goes some way towards satisfying the itch ;)

 

The warehouse is on fire.

 

For a moment, Arthur doesn’t really register the significance of this fact. His head aches, his mouth bone dry and full of ashes. He tries to swallow and his tongue sticks to the roof of his mouth.

 

“What—?” he starts, then begins to cough. Behind him, he can feel someone stir, and then there’s a voice in his ear—the first and last person he wants to hear at a time like this. 

 

“Arthur? Are you all right?”

 

A moment of cautious exploration reveals that he is, in fact, all right, and so is Merlin—aside from the fact that they’re tied back-to-back in the middle of a raging inferno. The building is thick with smoke, flames spreading wildly through the rows of jam-packed cargo. Destroying the evidence, Arthur realises. His stomach sinks. They’ve been in worse spots—probably—but this still looks pretty bad, and with a flutter of panic he realises just how close he’d come to never waking up.

 

“Can you stand?” he asks, leaning back against Merlin. His dry lips crack in the heat, making him wince. “Merlin. We need to move, now.”

 

It takes a few tries, but eventually they manage to stagger upright and begin to shuffle drunkenly down the narrow alleyway between shelves, searching for a way out.

 

“I thought I told you to wait outside,” Arthur says conversationally. “What part of _under no circumstances are you to follow me_ did you not understand?”

 

Merlin snorts, and it turns into a hacking cough that makes his entire body jerk. “As if I’d let you break into a smuggler’s hideout by yourself,” he says. “It’s not like I was expecting to be knocked out and left to die in a burning building. You said you were just going to get the books and get out. You said it would be easy!”

 

“Well, I was wrong,” Arthur snaps. “Obviously.”

 

There’s a beat of silence behind him, then Merlin says with something like wonder in his voice, “Now I _know_ we’re going to die.”

 

“Shut up.” Arthur yanks him forward, ignoring the way it makes Merlin stumble and let out a yelp of alarm. “Come on, I think I know how we can get out of here.”

 

Mercifully, Merlin falls silent and simply follows him, occasionally stepping on Arthur’s heels since he can’t see where he’s putting his feet.

 

“Watch it,” Arthur warns him after a moment. “There are steps.”

 

“What? Why are we going _up?_ The door’s down here.”

 

“The door’s cut off,” Arthur says grimly. “But there’s a chance we can get out through the fire escape. Lift your feet.”

 

When they finally reach the top of the stairs, Arthur thanks whatever gods there are that he hadn’t been mistaken: not only is there an opening onto the roof, there’s a fire extinguisher at the top of the stairs, dusty with disuse. Not that it will do them much good at this point, but the axe hanging beside it could definitely come in handy. 

 

It’s awkward, manoeuvring the blade between them, but finally they manage to get it into position and start to saw through the ropes. The axe slips a couple of times, slicing Arthur’s skin, but he grits his teeth around the pain and keeps on going. He’ll be damned if he’s going to let Merlin die like this.

 

At last, the ropes give and set them free, and just in time: the fire has reached the stairwell below them, tongues of flame lapping at their heels. There’s no going back.

 

“Come on,” Arthur says, pulling down the ladder that leads to the fire escape. Thank god for building regulations, since apparently even mafia kingpins have to adhere to the relevant safety guidelines, and fuck it if that isn’t the best kind of irony Arthur has ever heard of.

 

“You’re hurt,” Merlin says, staring. Blood is dripping down Arthur’s wrists, hot and red, but he waves it away as irrelevant.

 

“That’s not important. We need to get out of here.”

 

“Yes, it _is_ important,” Merlin begins, but without letting himself think twice about it, Arthur grabs him by the front of his shirt and jerks him forward into a sudden kiss. 

 

“Do you trust me?” he demands. Merlin blinks at him with a slightly dazed expression, and Arthur has to repeat himself, giving him a small shake for good measure. Finally, Merlin nods.

 

“Good. I’m going to get what we came for. I’ll meet you on the roof.”

 

Merlin’s mouth sets into a firm line. “I’m not leaving without you.”

 

Arthur wants to kiss him again for that, but there’s no time. He shoves Merlin towards the ladder. “For God’s sake, Merlin, go! The more you argue the less time we have. I promise, I’ll be right behind you.”

 

He waits until Merlin is out of sight, outside and safe, before he pulls the bottom of his shirt up over his mouth and makes his way over to the office. The door is unlocked, thank fuck, and he doesn’t have time to do more than locate the files he came for and stuff them into his waistband before there’s a crash outside. The whole warehouse shakes. He can hear Merlin’s voice screaming for him over the flames, and when he looks out the door he can see why. Half of the landing is gone.

 

There have been exactly three moments in Arthur’s life when he has felt this hopeless: the first time he ever asked a girl out on a date, the last time he spoke to his father, and every time he looks at Merlin being so close and kissable and remembers all the reasons why loving him is such a bad idea.

 

“You have to jump!” Merlin shouts at him, hanging down from the opening like a demented bat. His hair is sticking up every which way, his eyes wild and lit half gold by the flames. “Arthur! You have to jump, did you hear me? Hold out your hands and I’ll catch you.”

 

“Are you crazy?” Arthur yells back, but this is a stupid question because obviously, Merlin is out of his mind. “You can’t catch me! I’ll drag us both down!”

 

“This is hardly the time to argue about your weight,” Merlin retorts, but Arthur can see him anchoring himself, hooking his legs over the skylight and reaching towards him with both hands. “Seriously, Arthur, just do it already. Either you jump now or we both go down anyway, it’s your choice!”

 

Put like that, Arthur can see no other option, and with a brief prayer that he isn’t about to send them both hurtling to a fiery death, he backs up a couple of steps and takes a running jump.

 

Merlin catches him.

 

Later, Arthur isn’t quite sure how to explain it, except that Merlin must be hiding some serious muscles beneath those scruffy shirts and oversized hoodies. Merlin’s hands grip his wrists hard, making him flinch as the cuts reopen, and for a moment Arthur is swinging out over the immolated warehouse in a dizzying arc, his heart pounding in his throat as he waits for the inevitable fall. And then Merlin is hauling him upwards, dragging him seemingly without effort over the lip of the fire-escape and out into the fresh air. Smoke billows after them, and Arthur can hear a reverberating crash as the last of the gantry gives way.

 

Merlin rolls over and lies flat against the roof, letting his head fall back with a regretful sigh. “And to think, that could’ve been you.”

 

Arthur huffs out a laugh beside him. “You should be so lucky.”

 

Merlin’s shoulder is pressed against Arthur’s own, his fingers still warm on Arthur’s wrist. He doesn’t seem inclined to let go. “Oh well,” he says, sounding way too cocky for someone who just barely escaped a burning building. “There’s always next time.”

 


End file.
